[day_112]
[day_sat]

As dawn brightened to day, they gathered. Faces, feted and fetid, filled the field. The impressive found common ground with the impressionable — until they took flight. The acolyte lifted his fledgling flock before the organic crown. Sunbeams danced along evergreen edges, and Exodus’ entourage basked in the purifying light.

This was the root of mutant society. The great tree of Krakoa. The Arbor Magna.

Below bountiful branches, the Primals — Teon and Adam — prowled. Instinct drove the duo in tight circles around the base of the trunk. Predacious gazes combed the crowd. Should anyone attempt the unthinkable, should anyone dare, they were primed to strike. The ritual would not be interrupted. Its sanctity would not be corrupted.

All believed. All had born witness. Many were living proof. Yet devotion was not universal. Anything given freely invited inspection and inquisition. The process was miraculous, truly, but what of its executors? They were far from infallible. Who were they to make life-altering decisions?

The skeptics hung back. The agent, out in the cold despite the island climate, offered a curt nod to the freedom fighter, who merely crossed her blue arms. The two women shared an understanding, not a bond. There would be no pleasantries. No spoken feelings. No false fronts. Hope, in either case, would be a betrayal. Even if either wanted to utter doubt, it would be drowned by the din of the devout.

The congregation clapped thunder. Like a bolt of lightning, she appeared. Hovering above the Krakoan canopy, the Goddess soaked in the growing fervor. Warm mist bathed the worshipers. Acknowledging. Comforting. Encouraging. Tears fell silently as voices cried out.

The Storm descended.

[00_rain]
[00_fall]

•||[x]||•

“No man is an island, entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent, 
A part of the main.”

Excerpt from Meditation XVII
Devotions upon Emergent Occasions
– John Donne –

[day_106]
[day_sun]

Chandeliers quivered, crystals singing in high harmony, as the doors to the White Palace thrust inward. The warm breath of Hellfire Bay filled the foyer, and in strode the Captain Commander, all sweat and adrenaline.

{We did it — we got them back — we brought them home,} his thoughts surged before his lips could part. Joy, electric and bright, pulsed from Cyclops’ figure, contained only by his skintight suit. {Nathan, Logan, Ororo, Illyana, Doug — Krakoa, we saved — we’re safe — }

{Darling.} In a shift of satin, the Queen of the castle piqued at the peak of the spiral staircase. {You’re babbling.}

“Sorry.” His rose-tinted eyes drank in her every step as she sauntered down the diamond gyre.

{Never apologize.} Frost’s fingertips traced the smooth firmness of the banister. {For being who you are.}

{Still.} At the hilt of the helix, Summers offered his hand. {I get carried away.}

Emma seized it and spilled into Scott’s arms, her right leg wrapping around his waist. {Don’t we all?}

For a moment both fleeting and endless, they were one. Theirs was a bond unbreaking, a solid seal. Until the Commander felt his Queen tense.

{Scott…} Frost peeled back, a new urgency hanging between them. {Havok and the Hellions didn’t make it back.}

“No.” Steel snapped Cyclops’ jaw shut. {No. Today is a win. For Krakoa. For the X-Men. We need this. A clean victory.}

Emma settled to her feet. A barrage of knowledge burrowed a crease into her brow. “What happened to Elizabeth?”

Summers averted his gaze and found the still-open entrance. “Betsy has been transformed before. Alex has been lost before. None of this is insurmountable. None of this is new.”

“Okay.” The Queen laced her bare fingers through the Commander’s gloved ones. {This way.}

She guided him deeper into her chambers. White opulence blushed pink before flushing red. Encased in cardinal, Scott Summers pulled back his cowl, revealing his salt-and-pepper hair.

Emma Frost, a gleaming jewel, removed her suitor’s visor. Instinct laced his lashes, lest he lash out. Her thoughts enveloped his, leaving no space for fear. {Let it out.}

Cyclops opened his eyes.

[00_ruby]
[00_room]

Issue cast

[day_107]
[day_mon]

Did you hear the sky serpent sigh? If she weren’t concerned with the dragon’s wellbeing, the sentient weather balloon would have likened the experience to something out of Tolkein. They were, after all, flying over hobbit country. 

“I don’t want to sound entitled…” Despite her wafting wings and cerulean scales, the sky serpent still sounded unmistakably like a 20-year-old Canadian. She banked left, toward the white sand of Maitai Bay.

“But?” the chloroprene counselor coaxed, her own voice an octave higher, thanks to the helium holding her aloft. The beach was a blur before the syllable escaped. 

Transonic studied her ophidian appearance on the surface of the placid Pacific. After a moment of reflection, she whispered, “It happened again.”

“Being left out, you mean?” Husk’s inflated form was tethered to the 20-year-old’s right wrist by a taut cable. 

A slight nod served as confirmation. “We’re supposed to be something special. The first mutants after M-Day. The Five Lights. The beacon guiding the way forward. But we never get the chance.” 

Paige Guthrie bobbed as Laurie Tromette’s fingertips skimmed the water’s salted skin, although the counselor could’ve just as easily been nodding herself. 

“The Phoenix Force coming back was supposed to be our time to shine — the messiah and her acolytes, kickstarting evolution again. Except Cyclops and his Extinction Team stepped in.” The dragon clenched her talons. “And we got sidelined. Not long after that, Professor McCoy brought The First Five to the present, and the past became the focus of the future. We were an afterthought, if we were thought of at all. Now, Hope has her role with a different Five altogether. I can’t begrudge the work she’s doing. Her role is undeniably important, but…where does that leave the rest of us?” 

“And the events that brought you here today, the thing that happened again?” The prod was as gentle as the counselor could manage, while still being direct.

“The tournament, yeah.” Transonic peeled upward, the windshear smoothing away her features. 

“The Lights weren’t swordbearers.” Husk kept an even tone, while her body bulged wildly from the sudden shift in direction. 

“Worse than that.” Laurie Tromette was a blue streak, slicing through the atmosphere. “We weren’t even considered for the scouting party. If Ms. Grey’s call-to-arms hadn’t been ‘all hands on deck’, I doubt The Five Lights would’ve been part of the rescue effort.”

“Could there be a blessing in the omission?” Paige Guthrie tried to offer a positive spin, perhaps to keep her own head from spinning from the pressure change. “You saw what happened to Unus, Banshee, and Rockslide.” 

“All the more reason it should’ve been us.” The dragon pushed herself further, farther. “With Teon’s fight-or-flight instinct, Idie’s thermal transference, Gabriel’s time manipulation, my maneuverability, and our bond to Hope, we could’ve averted this crisis altogether. We could’ve been heroes. We…we could’ve saved…”

The balloon felt the pressure. “Is becoming an X-Man your ultimate goal?”

“Well, I am partial to Alpha Flight.” 

Husk swore she saw a dimple.

“This feeling of being left out that you’re describing, we call it ‘wallpaper syndrome’. It happens to the middle children of the atom,” the counselor explained as they settled above the clouds. “If you’re not one of the old guard or the hot new thing, you’re basically set dressing. I can certainly relate.”

Transonic tilted her head toward the balloon. “You’ve been through this?” 

“Absolutely.” Paige offered the warmest smile she could through rubberized dermis. “So has Sam. So have all the New Mutants and Gen Xers and the first graduates of Academy X. There’s a bottleneck at the top. For most of us, the only way up was out. It’s one of the reasons groups like X-Force and X-Corps splintered off. We came back into the fold eventually, but we had to discover who we were outside the Xavier umbrella first.”

“So I spent the last two and a half years training…to look elsewhere?” Confusion creased the sky serpent’s brow.

Sincerity created caution within the counselor. “I don’t want to dissuade you from pursuing your dream.”

“But?” It was Tromette’s turn to coax.

With a roll of her core and a reel of the line, Guthrie came face-to-face with the dimming Light. “I worry that you’ll be constantly frustrated and disappointed if you focus exclusively on being one of the mutant elite.” 

“In other words” — a wing swept through a cumulus cluster, clearing the view — “explore my horizons?”

The laugh couldn’t be helped. “Yep.” Regained composure begat curiosity. “Are you open to a thought exercise?”

“That’s my favorite kind of exercise,” Laurie admitted.

“Mine, too.” Paige cleared her throat. “Okay, consider this: If you went through all that training, but it wasn’t to become an X-Man, then what was the training for?”

Silence sunk between scales. The contemplative quiet before: “Survival.” 

[00_silver]
[00_lining]

[01_new]
[01_day]

•||[u]||•

Altered Visions Presents:

UNCANNY_X-MEN

State of the Union
[01/02]

story///Doug Bookey [+] C.T. Kinkaid
script///C.T. Kinkaid

[01_alt]
[01_vis]

[day_110]
[day_thu]

Sweat smeared stenciled snakeskin. Labored breaths escaped snarled lips. Pupils dilated and darted as spine braced against stone. She lunged for it. That sliver of salvation. Grasscutter.

A feint. Her left arm windmilled, hurling gravel. Fragmented rock hung in the air like desperation. Before disintegrating into dust.

“What is the cliche about glass houses?” Her pursuer passed through the fog of grit. “Ah, yes, they can always see you coming.”

Miranda Leevald crouched, elbows hinged, fingers loose. She would hold her ground, even if it shifted beneath her bare feet.

Godkiller glinted as it edged toward her chin. “Do you yield?”

The erstwhile X-Woman refused to blink. “Never.”

The strike was swift. But it did not land. Instead of the classical crescendo of blade through bone came the harsh clang of new metal against old. Mercy would be shown to all, for all were watching.

Necks craned, and the stunned swordsman staggered. “Wh…?”

“I don’t know the nature of your quarrel — or why it commands an audience.” The gold-toned guardian advanced before Bennet du Paris could parry. “But your opponent will not lose.”

“Death is victory in this arena,” the pursuer, now pursued, explained.

“Then, you will have cause to celebrate.” The interloper leapt, a brutal ballestra. Her ascent halted under the heft of her curtana. Gravity gripped from point to pommel and pulled. She slammed into the undulating earth. Pressure fissured her armor. Her constitution, however, could not be cracked.

Forcing herself upright, femurs verging on fracture, the wandering warrior forged forward, toward the attacker. Veins strained through his reddened flesh as capillaries burst behind his pale eyes.

“Wait.” The imposter rested a hand on the interloper’s exposed shoulder. “Thank you for fighting on my behalf, but this is The Crucible, a rite of passage. I’m here to show my worth, so I can be become my true self again.”

“Death for rebirth.” The gilded paladin they would come to know as Isca nodded in understanding. Her body softened, and Exodus released his hold. “Die well.”

The ersatz Stacy X swiped her sword from the arena floor and charged. Grasscutter found no purchase, for Godkiller withdrew the ultimate cost.

Thus ended the first life of Miranda Leevald.

[01_first]
[01_clash]

[day_109]
[day_wed]

[00_quiet]
[00_pleas]

next///CEREMONY